"Come forward," Vorila commanded without hesitation, gesturing to the individual standing behind him.
Their weary appearance and isolated demeanor made it painfully clear that they were slaves.
As instructed, a man in his thirties stepped forward with his head bowed.
Fatigue clouded his eyes, and his emaciated body bore the unmistakable signs of malnutrition — a telling indication of his status as a slave.
Beside him stood a young girl, likely around 18 or 19, her face marked by burns that had ravaged her skin.
The cloth she used to cover her face made it evident that only her eyes were visible, further shrouding her in an aura of despair.
Both of them approached and bowed to the child before them, paying little mind to the disparity in their ages.
In their eyes, they were merely slaves, subservient to a noble man.
"This is number 165, and this is his daughter, 166," Vorila said matter-of-factly, feeling dismayed at the thought of having to part with so many gold coins just to acquire these particular slaves.
He had no choice but to adhere to the whims of this naive child, who seemed blissfully unaware of the impending tragedy that loomed over them.
Once Vorila received that contract back, he would have no qualms about devastating the entire territory and leaving its inhabitants to starve.
It had all begun when Count Vinlig forcefully made him sign an unfair contract.
If the merchants were to perish, Vinlig would witness firsthand the consequences of his territory stripped of its economic lifeblood, especially when he dared to oppose someone from the powerful merchant association.
For the time being, however, Vorila was compelled to heed the child's desires, as he had procured these slaves possessing a unique skill: the ability to manipulate metal.
They might well hold the key to unlocking the safe where the Count had concealed his contract.
"What are their real names?" Lucian inquired, directing his gaze toward the two individuals and noting the dehumanizing labels they had been assigned—numbers 165 and 166.
In this world, where slavery was sanctioned, it was common for an owner to bestow names upon their slaves.
Often, these names were arbitrary, reflecting the owner's indifference to the lives of those they subjugated.
Yet, despite their plight, these individuals were human beings with thoughts and feelings, deserving of recognition and dignity—atleast to feel gratefulness and attachment to their master.
A true human experience requires a rich array of emotions, which they have been denied for far too long, only if someone wants them to feel more aligned with themselves.
Lucian, embodying the innocence of a child, pretended to be curious about their names.
'So naive, aren't you?' Vorila mused silently, unable to suppress a smirk at the child's innocence.
What did it matter who had named these slaves?
In the end, they were merely property to him.
Encouraged by his innocence, he raised his hand and declared, "Slaves don't have names, young master."
"Is that true? Well, then I'll call you Jordan and you Jully. Would that be alright?"
Lucian tilted his head, gesturing towards the slaves standing beside Vorila, his face adorned with an expression of pure innocence.
He understood that fostering loyalty in someone often began with instilling hope—a hope they believed was forever lost to them.
"Young master, you shouldn't speak to these things like—" Vorila sighed, resting his arms on the sofa.
He acknowledged the child's naivety and wanted to caution him against naming slaves, as it might lead them to think too highly of themselves.
However, he was cut off mid-sentence.
"Did you bring the slave seals?" Lucian interjected, directing his attention to Vorila.
He inquired about the single slave seal he had specifically requested; they were priced at a hefty 100 gold coins each, particularly for ones of high quality.
The cheaper alternatives, costing a mere 10 to 20 coins, were not the type he desired.
"Yes, here it is. But why do you want a slave seal? Don't you trust me?" Vorila asked, pulling out a sheet of paper alongside a black ink stick.
He placed it on the table, puzzled by the child's motivation for requesting a slave seal.
Even Vorila understood that to unlock the metal safe, one would require individuals skilled in manipulating metal.
But what role did the slave seal play in this scenario?
A small chuckle escaped Vorila's lips as he pondered the absurdity of it all.
He found humor in the idea that the child might be contemplating enslaving these people, unaware that they could not change owners until their current master died or issued a command.
It hardly mattered in Vorila's case, as he had already instructed these slaves to eliminate the child once they managed to break open the safe, a plan born from his deep-seated grievances.
If it meant sacrificing a few worthless pawns, what harm was there in using them to rid himself of the child, the very source of his suffering?
To put things into perspective, it was common for monsters to be sold for six or seven gold coins, while Vorila was engaging in transactions that hardly netted him more than 1.
After factoring in labor card and tax expenses, he was left with just a few silver coins—a rather pitiable sum for each monster sold.
All of this stemmed from that one day when this little pig—seated right in front of him—had carelessly thrown a silver coin into his mouth.
Vorila had neither found himself at death's door, nor had the seemingly kind Count taken the opportunity to bind him with an unfair contract.
So, using those slaves as a means to kill that child—or at the very least, to wound him—provided Vorila with a sense of vindication.
This time, he decided to overlook the reason behind Lucian's inquiry regarding the slave seal.
To him, the child's demise was inevitable, and following that, he envisioned the territory falling into famine as merchants ceased their trade here.
"No, Gorilla, I just wanted to see how this works," Lucian replied, shaking his head.
He lifted the black chalk in his hand, appearing just like normal chalk, while utilizing the other hand to hold the paper.
A star-like design adorned the paper, inscribed with writing that was alien to him, prompting him to ask for clarification.
"By the way, how do you use this?" Lucian asked, tilting the paper curiously to decipher its meaning.
'This foolish child,' Vorila thought, a wave of irritation washing over him.
Yet, observing the child's genuine enthusiasm and focus on the paper, he took a deep breath to steady himself and began explaining the mechanics of the slave seal.